


Whiskey and Funerals

by Ellen Smithee (ellensmithee)



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:51:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellensmithee/pseuds/Ellen%20Smithee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene between 3x01 and 3x02. Alaric comforts Damon (and finds comfort himself).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey and Funerals

The boardinghouse was deserted when Alaric arrived; the last of the partygoers were filing out of the house when he drove up.

"I wouldn't go in there, Mr. Saltzman," one of his students said in passing. "Dude's nuts."

Unsurprised, Alaric nodded and patted the kid on the shoulder in thanks, wincing when the boy almost toppled over. Luckily one of his more sober friends grabbed him before he could fall and Alaric turned away. _Definitely the worst teacher ever._ Another wave of shame and self-loathing filled him as he thought of how he'd just deserted Elena and Jeremy, but he tamped it down. At least taking care of Damon was something he was an expert in, just as his friend had taken care of him in all the weeks since Jenna's death.

He wandered into the living room, almost expecting to find Damon at his customary place in front of the fire despite the plastic cups and trash lying around, but the other man was nowhere to be found. After making a quick round of the other rooms and finding them empty, he started up the stairs.

"Damon?" he called, once he reached the top.

He heard a muffled noise coming from the direction of Stefan's room and he headed towards it, stopping short in the doorway when he saw the state it was in, littered with broken furniture and smashed knickknacks. Damon was huddled against the far wall, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, his eyes closed and his chest heaving. Alaric made his way through the debris and crouched down next to Damon.

"I was drivin' by the station on the way home when I saw the rescue vehicles," he said, laying his hand on Damon's shin. Damon's muscles tensed under the touch, but his eyes remained closed as Alaric continued. "Liz pulled me over and told me about Andie's... accident. I'm sorry, Damon."

Damon's eyes flew open and fixed Alaric with a bleary stare as his face twisted into a one-sided smirk.

"Why are you sorry, Rick?" he asked. "What did you call her, my 'fake, compelled girlfriend'? She was just a toy to be played with and discarded. Nothing more."

Despite Damon's cocky words, Alaric could see the regret and guilt in his eyes, and his chest tightened.

"Dude, when are you gonna learn that doesn't work with me," he asked as he lowered himself onto the floor next to Damon. "I know you liked her in your own twisted, Damony way." He paused and took a deep breath. "It was Stefan, wasn't it?"

Damon's eyes fell closed again and his head fell against the wall.

"Don't," he said, his voice tight. "Just... don't. I don't want to hear his name. He's dead to me. He's not coming back from it this time. And you know what? He can just go fuck himself."

Alaric watched Damon as the other man took a long draft from the bottle of whiskey and then offered it to Alaric. Alaric took a sip as well and then set it down. He knew that Damon cared for Stefan much more than he let on, but he'd never seen Damon show such raw _emotion_ for his brother before and it scared the shit out of him. Alaric was so fucked up himself at the moment, he had no idea what he'd do if Damon lost it, too.

"C'mon," he said finally, getting to his feet. "Let's get you to bed." Bending down, he grabbed Damon under the armpits and pulled the other man up. As Alaric straightened, Damon overbalanced, falling forward. Alaric's arms slid around his friend automatically, pulling him closer in an attempt to steady him.

"I got you, buddy," he said.

Damon pulled back to look at Alaric.

"You always do," he said, his lips lifting into a slight smile. And then he was kissing Alaric, just like that.

Damon's mouth was hot on his, tasting of whiskey and tears, and Alaric just let go, kissing back without overthinking it, though a voice in his head was telling him he was going to regret it come morning. But it felt so _good_ , he just couldn't stop. He needed this tonight, whatever 'this' was.

For a fraction of a section, everything blurred and Alaric felt dizzy; then he was the one who was being held up as Damon pressed him against the wall, rubbing against Alaric's body. His fangs scraped against the sensitive skin of Alaric's neck and Alaric shivered, arching invitingly into the touch until he remembered the vervain he'd drunk earlier in the day.

"Not a good idea, dude," he whispered, and Damon let out a frustrated growl before replacing his teeth with his tongue. Alaric whimpered and threw his head back, digging his fingers into Damon's sides.

Damon bucked against Alaric's hip with a groan, letting Alaric feel his erection.

"You'll just have to think of some way to make up for it," he whispered, his hand snaking between them to rub Alaric's dick through his pants.

Alaric drew a sharp breath and pressed his cock into Damon's hand.

"Fuck, yeah," he said with a breathy chuckle. "Let me make it up to you, dude."

As Damon undid Alaric's pants, Alaric palmed and squeezed Damon's hard length through his jeans before undoing the fly. He'd only just started stroking Damon, when Damon's hand grasped his cock, cool and tight, and started to move, hitting just the right spots with just the right pressure. It had been so long since anyone's hand, including his own, had touch his prick that he started shooting almost immediately, pulsing into Damon's fist.

Damon growled deep in his throat, pinning Alaric against the wall as he fucked Alaric's hand with sharp, desperate thrusts. He breathed a name against Alaric's skin, so softly that Alaric thought he might have imagined it (and definitely _not_ the name Alaric would have expected), and then he came with a strangled cry, his whole body going rigid as he clung to Alaric, panting hard as he spilled into the other man's hand.

Damon pulled away, wiping his hand on Alaric's shirt before zipping and buttoning his jeans again.

"Thanks, dude," he said, clapping Alaric's shoulder. "You're a good friend."

Alaric nodded numbly as he stared down at his dirty hand.

"Sure," he said. "Any time." His eyes widened slightly when he realized it sounded like he was offer _those services_ to Damon at any time. "I mean--"

Damon just snorted and a glimmer of his usual smirk ghosted across his lips.

"I think I can find my own way to bed," he said. "G'night, Rick."

"Night," Alaric said, reaching down to snatch one of Stefan's t-shirts from the floor where it had spilled out of the upended bureau. He grimaced as he wiped off his hands and dick and tucked himself back into his pants. He look up to find Damon standing in the doorway watching him with a weird look on his face.

"He'll be back," Alaric said quietly. "You know he will." It was the closest he was going to come to admitting to what he'd heard while Damon was coming.

Damon looked at him for a long moment and then shrugged.

"Whatever." He held out his hand, his gaze dropping to the shirt. "Here, give me that so that I can throw it in the wash. I'm sure he doesn't wanna find your spunk all over his clothes if he does come back."

Alaric just snorted and tossed the t-shirt to Damon.

"See you tomorrow, dude."

"Good night, Rick."

As Damon headed to his room, Alaric made his way downstairs, detouring to the living room to grab a bottle of whiskey from the party supplies when he remembered just in time that Katherine had finished up all his bourbon while she was being held in his loft. He reckoned he still had a lot of drinking to do tonight before sleep found him.


End file.
